


Harold and the Purple Crayon

by zinke



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-29
Updated: 2008-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-12 04:40:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinke/pseuds/zinke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the surface, Laura Roslin has nothing to recommend her for the position to which she's been precipitously elevated, and yet Bill's gradually beginning to realize that there is much more to this woman than lesson plans and a great pair of legs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harold and the Purple Crayon

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the LJ comm adama-roslin's 2008 Secret Santa exchange for misstagart who requested, "a fic set during season 1 exploring the early days of Laura and Bill's relationship, back when they didn't like each other (except they secretly did). It can be them bonding, or being in denial about their feelings, or fighting, or whatever."
> 
> Being the canon-whore that I am, I decided to opt for the bonding option – while at the same time taking the opportunity to address what I've always seen as a significant (and seemingly unexplained) shift in their relationship (before 'Act of Contrition' they're sniping and trading thinly veiled looks of disdain, after 'You Can't Go Home Again' they're sharing drinks and smiles in his quarters – you be the judge *g*).
> 
> Thanks go as always to nnaylime and caz963 for their help, patience and advice, and to everyone who continues to read and comment on the stories I write. 'Cause cake, while still delicious, just isn't the same without a little icing.

Bill doesn't notice her right away. He's made it several steps into his quarters, intent on pouring himself a sorely needed and well-deserved drink when he spots a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye – Laura Roslin rising from his couch – and realizes, much to his disappointment, that he isn't alone.

"Madame President."

"Commander." Something in his expression must betray his mood, because a beat later she adds, "I hope I'm not intruding."

He shakes his head slightly before continuing across the room and reaching for one of several empty glasses on the side table. "What can I do for you?"

"I was hoping," she begins, taking a tentative step towards him, "you'd be able to tell me how Lieutenant Thrace is doing."

"A little worse for wear, but Starbuck's a fighter. She'll get herself back into the cockpit in no time."

"After what I saw today, I have no doubt of that."

Bill chuckles softly in response, surprised and strangely pleased by the teasing lilt he hears in her voice. Reaching down, he grabs a second glass then turns slightly and tilts it towards her in silent offering. Her eyebrows arch in surprise even as the corners of her mouth curl into the faintest of grins. "Thank you."

"Frankly," he begins as he pulls the stopper from the decanter and begins to pour, "I'd be more worried about Doc Cottle and the state of _Galactica_ 's sickbay if he tries to keep her in there for too long."

She laughs quietly before responding, a soft, melodic sound that brings a spontaneous, satisfied smile to his lips. "I don't think you're giving Doctor Cottle enough credit."

"I didn't realize you'd had a chance to meet him."

Bill could swear he sees a flicker of apprehension in her eyes as she accepts one of the proffered glasses, but before he's able to examine further, she's turned her back to him. "His...shall we say 'colorful' reputation precedes him," she replies smoothly as she crosses the room and resumes her seat on the couch.

"He's a piece of work, I'll give you that. But I've seen him fight to save men any other shipboard doctor would have taken one look at and given up for dead. There are more than a few people on this ship that owe him their lives."

"Well worth putting up with, then." Something in the tone of her voice gives him pause and glancing up, he finds her watching him with a meaningful expression that he finds unnerving. He quickly turns his attention to the glass in his hand, studying the generous finger of amber liquid within for several moments before taking a long, slow sip.

The next few minutes pass in awkward silence. It's clear to Bill that Laura's main reason for being here has little to do with any concern she might have for Kara's well-being, but he hasn't yet been able to figure out what it is she really wants. He finds his inability to read her frustrating, especially in light of today's revelation that she is not suffering from the same difficulties with regards to himself. He's not used to feeling this exposed and off-balance; he really doesn't like it.

Before he's able to dwell on the subject any longer, Laura abruptly shifts forward on the couch, drawing his attention. She waits until his eyes meet hers to speak. "Commander, please believe me when I say that I'm very happy to have Lieutenant Thrace back – the last thing I want is to lose any more of our people." She sets her drink on the table and turns to face him more fully. "But surely you must recognize that the time and resources we expended in the search went far and above what anyone would consider reasonable."

"She's the best Viper pilot I've got," Bill retorts in a petulant tone he immediately regrets. No matter how infuriating she may be, he needs to find a way to work with this woman, a fact he makes a conscious effort to remind himself of as he takes a deep breath and continues, "If _we_ are going to even stand a chance out here, we need her and we're going to need more pilots _like_ her."

"I don't disagree. But what happened here was about much more than simply losing a highly skilled and respected officer."

He can hear the rebuke in her voice and despite the veracity of her words it takes everything he has not to snap at her for yet again having the presumption to tell him how to take care of his own people. Instead, he holds her gaze defiantly, unwilling to fully concede defeat to this woman – this _schoolteacher_ – who's gotten under his skin in ways he's not sure he's even fully aware of. "Yes."

On the surface, Laura Roslin has nothing to recommend her for the position to which she's been precipitously elevated, and yet he's gradually beginning to realize that there is much more to this woman than lesson plans and a great pair of legs. He's sorely underestimated her, an error he's determined to correct as quickly as possible.

It's not until she breaks the silence, pulling him from his musings, that he realizes she's ceased her scrutiny of him and is now studying the half-empty glass in her hands."I'm sorry – about earlier. But the situation had become critical, and I didn't see any other way to get through to you. Or Captain Adama."

"You were right."

Laura lifts her eyes to meet his and replies without hesitation, "Yes, I was." To his surprise, her expression softens a beat later as she adds gently, "But that shouldn't excuse my tactics."

She holds his gaze a moment longer and then, seemingly satisfied with whatever it is she finds there, relaxes back into the couch and raises the glass to her lips.

Her body language makes it clear that, as far as she is concerned, her point has been made and the subject is now closed; but rather than the relief he had expected, Bill finds himself growing increasingly frustrated as the silence between them lengthens. Laura may be ready to let the matter rest, but he is not; though he's admitted that her incisive words to him and Lee had been justified, he isn't yet willing to concede that the decisions he'd made leading up to that confrontation been wrong. Despite having been absolved of any obligation to do so, he has an overwhelming urge to explain himself, to _make_ her understand.

At a loss as to how to even begin, he eventually gives in and says the first thing that comes to mind. "Kara had been engaged to my son. To Zak."

Laura looks up at him in surprise, and he takes pleasure in the realization that his personal disclosure has been able to finally knock her off-balance. "And Lieutenant Thrace reminds you of him?"

Bill chuckles at the notion and shakes his head. "She reminds me of myself when I was that age."

"How so?"

Her expression has eased into one of genuine interest, and in response he can feel his irritation ebbing. Crossing the room, he takes a seat across from her on the couch, idly twisting the glass in his hands as he considers the question. "When I first joined up, I was told that there are three things you need to be a good Viper pilot: unfailing trust in your instincts, a good size chip on your shoulder, and an unshakable belief in your own invincibility. As Viper pilots go, I used to be one of the best."

"Used to be?"

"One of the many perils of age and experience."

Laura offers him a sympathetic grin. "When President Adar was elected mayor, he'd been determined to change things and make the government something people could believe in again. It was the reason I joined his campaign in the first place, and why I eventually agreed to join his administration. I don't know what happened to that," she adds in a low voice, and it's clear from her preoccupied expression that her words hadn't been meant for him to hear. Bill shifts uncomfortably in his seat and the motion is apparently enough to shake her from her reverie. Turning to him, Laura offers a tentative smile. "Billy reminds me of him, sometimes."

Bill smiles at her uncertainly in return before shifting his attention back to the glass in his hands. Their conversation has taken a decidedly personal turn, one that he hadn't necessarily been expecting or looking for, and in the wake of her quiet admission Bill finds himself feeling a bit like a fish out of water. He's known this woman for all of three weeks, has been at odds with her since their very first meeting; and to be honest, he can't really say that he even likes her all that much. Yet here they sit, side-by-side on his couch, and while the situation itself is disconcerting, he's both confused and pleasantly surprised by how _comfortable_ it seems.

Hazarding a curious glance at her out of the corner of his eye, Bill is somewhat dismayed to find her sitting with her head bowed, staring blankly at a spot on the carpet beneath her feet. There is something melancholy in Laura's expression that gives him pause, and when she speaks again a moment later, her voice is tinged with an uncertainty he's never heard from her before.

"It's getting harder, isn't it?"

Bill hesitates before replying, taking several moments to study her profile while trying –unsuccessfully – to discern what it is she's really asking him. "What?"

"Remaining objective; knowing where to draw the line."

"That's the trouble with lines," he replies with a sigh. "Sooner or later you're going to have to cross them."

Slowly she lifts her head, raising her eyes to his. "Like today?" she questions again, but this time her voice holds none of the censure that had been present earlier. She's asking for his counsel, he realizes with a start, and in response, his perception of her abruptly shifts; no longer just a schoolteacher, no longer the Presidential thorn in his side, she is suddenly something – someone – more.

Taking a slow, deliberate sip of his drink, he continues to hold her gaze over the lip of his glass as he swallows. "Yes."

"If that's the case, how can you ever be sure that the choices you're making are the right ones?"

He sets his glass on the coffee table before responding. "You can't. That's why you have to trust that the people around you will do whatever it takes to pull you back when you _do_ go too far."

In the brief silence that follows, he feels the mood in the room change; Laura is looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, and he wonders if somehow he's overstepped his bounds. But before he has the chance to think or say anything more, her expression melts into the practiced, guarded countenance with which he's become all too familiar these past few weeks.

"I should be getting to my shuttle; I've kept your pilots waiting long enough as it is." Rising from her seat she offers the now empty glass to him with a perfunctory smile. "Thank you for the drink, Commander."

Bill stands as well, taking the tumbler from her with a nod. "Of course," he replies automatically, falling back on the dictates of social decorum in the hopes it will hide his disappointment. Perplexing as this encounter has been, it's offered him a fleeting glimpse of the woman behind the tragedy and the title, making him curious about her in a way he's never been before. As before, he's unwilling to let her get away so easily – though his reasons this time are borne from much kinder motives. "And please feel free to stop by anytime. My door's always open."

If Laura's at all unnerved by his offer, she doesn't show it. Instead, she offers him her hand and a demure smile. "I appreciate the offer. Goodnight, Commander."

"Goodnight, Madame President."

With mixed feelings, Bill watches as she crosses the room and steps through the hatch. He doesn't turn away until the marines have closed the door behind her.

 

*fin.*


End file.
